


got you

by Anonymous



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Wholesome, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter ignores an injury and gets an infection. Good thing Mr. Stark's here to save the day.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 237
Collections: Anonymous





	got you

Take a deep breath. Now jump!

He flies across the alleyway, heart racing and wind whooshing past his ears. He bounces off the wall, using the momentum to slam right into the guy…and, as it would seem, directly into his knife.

Ooh, that one’s gonna leave a mark!

He ties up the perp then uses the guy’s phone to ring the police, since the other guy already ran—yeah, you’re welcome!

Ugh. It’s not all about the thank-you’s—though those are much appreciated. No, it’s more about the fact that Peter’s kinda bleeding here. Even spider-people need a band-aid every now and then.

But, really, Peter’s pretty sure he’ll be fine.

He shoots some webbing onto his side and calls it a day.

No big deal, right?

He considers whether he should call Mr. Stark over it, but really, it doesn’t hurt that bad, and anyways, he literally just got a little more leeway with the whole ‘baby monitor’/curphew-thing. The last thing he needs is to lose the progress he’s already made.

He can’t really get the suit off without peeling off his makeshift bandage, so he just sleeps in it that night. But it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever done that; plus, the heater in the suit is pretty much better than any blanket ever could be.

He falls asleep after a quick goodnight to Aunt May, sure that his small problem will be solved by morning.

Well…not so much. By the time he wakes up, the webbing’s already dissolved, and he must have shifted in his sleep or something because some blood spilled out onto his sheets. Oh, Aunt May will have a fit if she sees this!

For the first time in years, Peter makes his bed without prompting. He’ll deal with the blood-stain later. For now, throwing the blankets overtop will have to do.

He heads into the bathroom to get ready, and it’s once he’s finally pulled the suit off that he’s able to see that his side is…not good. It definitely was a deeper cut than he’d initially estimated, and wider, too.

Overall? Gross. Really.

He jumps in the shower, careful not to let any soap get into the still-somewhat-open wound. That’s a painful lesson you only have to learn once.

He slaps an actual band-aid on after then finishes getting ready for school.

Nothing really pops out about that school-day. Yeah, his side is a little sore, and it hurts when Ned bumps into him in the hallway, but all of that seems normal.

He gets home before his aunt and attempts to wash his sheets in the sink. It…doesn’t really work so well.

Regardless, he hangs them up to dry in the window. Bleach won’t really work because it’s a blue sheet, but maybe he can figure something else out. Or, shoot, maybe he can pass it off as a chocolate milk-stain. You really never know.

The bigger issue right now is the hole in his Spider-suit. He didn’t really notice how bad it was last night, but now that he’s looking at it…

Mr. Stark’s going to have a conniption. Peter doesn’t even know what the word means—and yet, he is afraid.

Unless…

He finds Aunt May’s sewing kit in the medicine cabinet and manages to thread some red string. It’s not the best repair job, but it’s the best Peter can do. And, really, it actually looks pretty good. Peter might be a little bit proud.

After homework, he patrols that night, and everything goes well. The thread holds, no problem there, and he stops a couple of low-level crimes, no big deal.

The only issue is that he ends up kinda breathless throughout the night. Like…weird. But he figures he’s just tired since he has been patrolling a lot lately. He calls it an early night, has dinner with his aunt, and figures everything will be normal after a good night’s rest.

Everything is not normal after a good night’s rest.

Actually, he does not feel even medium-okay. His head is throbbing, and he squints against the light of his bedroom lamp, feeling like he might have a fever. It’s odd because he hasn’t even caught a small cold since the spider-bite.

But regardless, it’s a big day today, between an upcoming English test and the ‘internship’, he doesn’t have time to get sick! Maybe he just needs to get moving.

Or maybe he really should have considered taking the day off today, because by the time English class rolls around, he can barely focus, the board blurring in front of him, and his side has started to ache even worse than the day before. He tries to press a hand to it, but the pressure makes it even worse. Even just the fabric of his shirt stings as it brushes against it.

He manages to drag himself through the rest of the day (with a little help from Ned and MJ—what would he do without them? “Probably die,” MJ said, and, well, true), and while he doesn’t really remember much of the review in English class today, he thinks he soaked in at least some of the information. So, worth.

Of course, it’s right when the (horrible, obnoxiously loud) bell rings that he remembers that, oh yeah, he can’t go home and pass out for thirteen hours like he wants to. His phone rings, displaying his code-name for Mr. Stark.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Peter asks over the talking of tens of voices in the hall.

“Great. How was school?” Mr. Stark asks. Then without waiting for Peter’s answer, he says, “You still coming over today?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Peter says as he dials in the combination to his locker, the phone precariously balanced between his ear and shoulder. “Don’t worry about sending Happy. I’ll just find my own way there.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll see you at five.”

He’s hung up on before he can say anything back, but Peter doesn’t mind much; talking takes a kind of energy he doesn’t really have right now. Which is why when Ned walks over, Peter doesn’t even respond verbally to his questions; he just groans.

“So you’re not feeling better, then,” Ned says. He pats Peter’s back, and it actually feels better than Peter will admit. “Are you sure you shouldn’t just go home? Mr. Stark can wait one day.”

It’s tempting, Peter won’t lie. But at the same time: “Nooo, I want to go. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

Ned levels a look at him, so Peter turns back to his locker, pretending not to see it.

“If you say so, man,” Ned says finally, and Peter shrugs.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Peter needs to learn to not ask that question.

As he swings over to the tower, stopping to help out a couple of civilians along the way, he needs to hold his eyes open wide in order to stay focused. He almost hits a building. Twice. And then he actually does nick a tree, the bottom of his foot catching a branch or two and yanking them out.

“Sorry, my bad!” he calls to the people down below, who barely manage to avoid the raining tree branches.

But once he’s gotten out of Queens, he kind of just…blanks. Is it bad that he has no memory of the rest of the trip over? Because it’s really just black space. But you know. It’s probably just the muscle-memory taking over, or something.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

He climbs into the open window about halfway up the tower, the one to the lab that he knows Mr. Stark's gotten into the habit of leaving open for him.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter says before he climbs through. He makes sure to give that warning after… Well, there was this one time that he didn’t, and it…did not end well. To say the least.

He ignores the way his side stabs from the twist of climbing in and falls to his feet on the floor.

“Yo,” Mr. Stark greets back. He’s playing with an arc reactor at the other end of the room, though the glow of it is green, not blue.

“Cool, what’s that?” Peter asks, pulling off his mask as he walks over.

“I’m playing with a new element as an energy source,” Mr. Stark explains, not looking up. After a second, he sets down his tools, looking up to meet Peter’s eyes. “What’s up?” he asks, smiling easily. “How was school?”

“Uhhh, not bad,” Peter lies. “I have an English test coming up that I think I’m gonna do good on.”

Mr. Stark smirks at that for some reason, but he doesn’t say anything. After a second, though, he squints. “You look a little pale,” he says, reaching up a hand but not quite touching him. “You feeling alright?”

Peter considers for a second. “I feel a little sick today,” he says. “But I think I’m okay.”

“’A little sick’, can you explain what that means?”

Peter shrugs, sitting down in a chair on the other side of the table. “My head hurts,” he says, leaving out the fever.

Mr. Stark nods. “You take anything for it? Ibuprophen or something?”

“Nah, I don’t think it works on me anymore.”

“Probably not with your metabolism, but I thought I’d check. You wanna re-schedule?”

“No, I’m fine,” Peter says, though he’s not really sure that’s true. Now that he’s sat down, he’s not sure he can get back up again.

“Cool, because I have got something to show you involving webbing and reflection panels. Here, come look.”

Hhhh.

As the day drags on, Peter first finds himself leaning against the tables, against the chairs, but then he’s sitting at every chance he gets, perfectly straight because his side is sore and it flashes with pain no matter which way he leans.

Everything gets hotter, even though he knows the suit regulates the temperature just fine, and it’s when he’s trying to cross the room to Mr. Stark that his vision blurs out again.

“Mr. Stark,” his hazy voice pushes out. “I’m feeling kinda…ooh…” He lists to the side for a moment, stumbling a step. He sees through the blur Mr. Stark making his way over and says, “I don’t feel so good,” and it’s only later that Peter will realize how those words must have struck with Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark catches his arm as he tilts again. “What’s up, kid?” he asks, reaching to the side to pull a chair over. “Talk to me.”

“I’m—ah!” Peter cries out as Mr. Stark’s hand brushes his side and everything throbs. He falls the rest of the way into the chair, not hearing whatever Mr. Stark is saying until:

“What’s this on your—oh. You didn’t.”

Peter’s breaths come in short puffs.

Mr. Stark says, voice suddenly serious, “Peter, when did this happen?” And when Peter opens his eyes, Mr. Stark’s hand is hovering over Peter’s side.

“It’s fine,” Peter says. “I’m—” His eyes widen suddenly as his mouth waters. Oh no…

Thankfully, Mr. Stark gets the memo. His eyes grow wide, too, and he sprints across the room, faster than expected, returning with a trash can just in time for Peter to wretch into it.

“You’re okay,” he hears Mr. Stark say, and then there’s a hand on his back, rubbing gently and making it just slightly more tolerable.

After he’s finished, Peter groans, placing the wastebasket on the ground. He’s not given the chance to rest, though; Mr. Stark reaches around to click the emblem on his chest, and the suit bags out.

“Alright, kiddo, you gotta step out,” Mr. Stark says. “I’m sorry, but I think you might have an infection.”

The words barely process in his head. All Peter can think about is the upcoming English test and whether or not he’ll be there.

Mr. Stark walks around, taking away the wastebasket and saying, “Let me know if you feel sick again.”

Peter thinks he nods, even as Mr. Stark maneuvers his arms out of the suit. It’s freezing outside of it, and Peter makes a face.

“Oh, honey,” Mr. Stark says, “that doesn’t look good. No wonder you feel bad.”

Peter squints open his eyes to look, and yeah, it’s kind of gross. As is, Peter nearly gags when he takes in the yellow, pussy…

“I’m good,” he says when Mr. Stark moves to get the trash can again. “I’m good. Just…” He waves his hand in a gesture even he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Okay,” Mr. Stark says, ruffling Peter’s hairline where sweat has started to bead. “Alright. We’re gonna get you to the medbay, okay, so our fancy doctors can take a look at you. Sound good?”

Peter nods a few times, his head bobbing on his neck, and Mr. Stark claps his hands together.

“Great. Okay, c’mon. Up we go.”

Peter reluctantly lets himself be pulled to his feet, stepping out of the suit when prompted. He leans on Mr. Stark, who’s surprisingly warm compared to the cool AC of the room, and stumbles with him towards and then into the elevator.

“There we go,” Mr. Stark is saying. “I know you don’t feel good, but I promise we’ll get you all fixed up.”

Peter wonders why Mr. Stark is babying him all of a sudden but doesn’t have the energy to protest it. He nods, eyes closing as he lets Mr. Stark support him. He doesn’t even notice the door opening until Mr. Stark is nudging him back to awareness, and he tries to take a step forward but ends up stumbling instead.

“Okay,” Mr. Stark says, “I hear ya. How about a piggyback instead? Does that sound good?”

“I can walk,” Peter says, but when Mr. Stark crouches in front of him, Peter crawls on his back.

“Think you can hold yourself?” Mr. Stark asks as he stands up straight, and Peter’s advanced hearing picks up on his knees cracking.

“’m good,” he mumbles back. And proceeds to black out.

He comes back to when he’s being dropped onto a soft surface.

“There he is,” Mr. Stark says, sounding like he’s speaking from underwater. Peter tries to pop his ears out, but it doesn’t work.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks, blinking against the bright white lights surrounding him, and he feels hands cover his forearms in response.

“Right here,” Mr. Stark says. “They’re putting you to sleep so they can clean out your side. That okay with you?”

Peter thinks for a moment, but the information doesn’t really seep through. “It’s okay,” he says, and it will just have to be; a second later, he feels a small prick in his arm, and after that, he doesn’t feel anything.

\----------------

“Peeeter. Peeeeeeeter. There you are.”

Peter hums, opening his eyes. Immediately, he sees Mr. Stark sitting in a chair by his side. A wide smile grows on Peter’s face.

“Mr. Stark,” he says. He laughs a little as he says, “Wha’re you doin’ here?”

Mr. Stark smiles back, looking soft and genuine. “You’re at the tower, silly,” he says, putting a hand in Peter’s hair and rubbing it.

“Oh. Well what’m I doing there? I have ‘n English test tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo, you still have time to study. Do you remember what happened?”

Peter remembers. It just doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.

“Oh, it definitely matters,” Mr. Stark says. “But don’t worry, I’ll give you the third degree later.”

“Whaaat? But I’ll be studying. No time for degrees. No-sir-ee.”

Mr. Stark laughs, hand still rubbing Peter’s head. It actually feels really nice, and Peter leans into it.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Mr. Stark says. “How’re you feeling?”

“I feel good, Mr. Stark.” Then, matter-of-factly, he says, “They have me on a lot of drugs.”

Bursting out a laugh at that, Mr. Stark says, “Yeah, kid, they do. It took some trial-and-error to figure out how much anesthesia a spider-child needs. We figured a little more was preferable to not enough.”

“You chose right,” Peter says, pointing a finger. He looks down and pulls at his blanket as he asks, “Did they fix my side then?”

“ _Don’t_ —touch that,” Mr. Stark says, stopping Peter right before he could poke at his bandages. His hand leave Peter’s hair, and Peter nudges his head to the side a couple of times until Mr. Stark gets back to rubbing it. “It needs to heal for a bit longer.”

Peter hums, pulling his hand away. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Mr. Stark pulls in a breath, sighing it back out. “Are you sure you really want to get into it right now?”

“I kinda just wanna get it over with. Plus, I feel like doing it sober would suck even worse—just kidding.”

“You better be kidding.” Regardless, Mr. Stark snorts at the joke. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he says, “No, I’m not mad. I’m…”

“Please don’t say disappointed.”

“I’m disappointed.”

“Aw, man.”

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes, smile tight. “I am, though. Not in you. I thought we were past this level, kid.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that.

“You know, I took off the baby-monitor because I trusted you to come to me if something like this happened. Not so you could go behind my back and sew up a multi-million-dollar suit with craft supplies.”

Peter refrains from defending his aunt’s sewing supplies, knowing even when a little high that it’s not the time. “I thought I would be okay,” he says instead.

Mr. Stark doesn’t respond for a moment, pushing his lips together.

Peter looks away.

Mr. Stark threads his fingers through Peter’s hair as he says, “I’m glad that you’re okay. But we’re going to have to make some new rules here.”

Perking up, Peter looks over. “Does this mean no baby-monitor?” he asks.

Mr. Stark huffs a laugh. “I’ll let you off the hook this time,” he says. “Just—you have to tell me if you ever get hurt. Even if it seems like nothing, I want you telling me in your reports, okay? I want to know. We’re a team, okay?”

“A team…” Peter repeats. He smiles. “Okay, I gotcha, Mr. Stark.”

“Do you?”

Grinning, Peter nods.

Mr. Stark smiles back. “Good,” he says. He rubs his hands through Peter’s hair as he says, “And I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> LOL I wrote a thing. This is such a corn-fest at the end. Good thing I like corny. Hope you guys enjoyed :)


End file.
